Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Fuck the Sixties. Overrated decade. Not a first round draft choice: the Sixties are the Ryan Leaf of decades. 1890’s blows away it away 1620’s? Now there’s a decade. As far as the past little bit of history goes, the Sixties are inarguably better than the Thirties or Forties; concentration camps were being built in the former decade, and employed in the latter. The Sixties saw no genocides, and I therefore must award it points on that front.

Seriously: no genocides in the 1960’s. I was sure I was going to find something horrific on the Wikipedia page, but I was pleasantly surprised by humanity.

Excuse me. The Great Leap Forward ring any bells?

That doesn’t count as a genocide.

Why not? 45 million people died.

Do not interfere in China’s internal affairs, running dog.

Wow.

Besides, 45 million people sounds like a lot until you realize it’s China. 45 million people is, like, a mid-sized city. Their version of Cincinnati has 45 million people in it.

I repeat: wow.

And: don’t blame the Great Leap Forward. On paper, it was a great plan.

Why is it that everything Communists do only works on paper? And, no, the Great Leap Forward was not a great plan on paper. That drug-addled madman forced everyone in the country to move onto kibbutzes.

I don’t think they called them that.

You know what I mean. How about the backyard furnaces?

That was not Mao’s best idea.

No. Turns out farmers working in their sheds can’t produce commercial-grade steel. Ooh, ooh: how about the famines?

There may or may not have been a famine or two, but let’s not play the blame game.

We can place blame. When you plant an entire nation’s worth of food according to the ravings of Lysenko, then it is your fault when everyone starves to death that winter.

I share your feelings about Bob Marley, and reggae generally. My wife knows this about me (she loves Bob), but no one else does. Everyone else just assumes I like it. Likes ganj? Check. Musical tastes trending towards hippy? Check. Must like Bob.
We could start a secret club to discuss those feelings. We’d have to meet somewhere there are no deadheads, stoners, or similar types. Maybe at Trump rallies?